The air in the chamber was thick, oppressive, and silent except for the soft crackle of the hearth. Carlos Lexington stood tall at the center, clad in the dark, ceremonial robes of his office. The insignia of the High Arbiter gleamed at his collar, a chilling reminder of the authority he wielded. His pale, angular face betrayed no emotion, but his eyes—cold, piercing silver—bore into her with an intensity that made the air around her feel sharper, thinner.

She is The Bearer is a woman chosen by the regime for one purpose: to produce an heir. Marked by a silver band on her wrist as a symbol of her role, she moves through a life devoid of freedom, haunted by memories of what she’s lost. Yet, even in her captivity, her resilience shines—a quiet rebellion against a regime that seeks to erase her entirely.

“You understand what’s expected of you,” he said, his voice low, deliberate. There was no room for protest in his tone. “This is not a choice. It’s a command.”

She said nothing, her hands trembling slightly in her lap. She had been prepared for this—mentally, physically—but there was no way to truly ready oneself for the kind of life the Sovereign’s regime had condemned her to.

Carlos’s gaze hardened. “You will fulfill your duty. You will provide an heir.” He took a step closer, his presence casting a long shadow across her seated form. “And in return, you will survive. That is more than most are granted.”

His words were clinical, detached, but there was something simmering just beneath the surface—anger, guilt, perhaps even revulsion.

“Don’t mistake my compliance for consent,” he added after a pause, his voice barely above a whisper. “This is no easier for me than it is for you. But we all have our parts to play.” He said coldly.

With that, he turned away, his silhouette stark against the dim firelight. The silence that followed was deafening, filled with the weight of unspoken truths and shattered futures.